Watch It Burn
by Kiryume
Summary: King Heartland's reign is about to burst into flames. In a desperate bid to save his brother, Kaito Tenjo goes to court to become the next heir to the throne. The Arclights, a family ruined by Kaito's father Lord Faker, seek to regain their positions and their friendship with the king at all cost. And in the ruins of Caligo, rebels plot to overthrow Heartland's monarchy entirely.
1. Hiding in the Dark

Rushed footsteps disturbed the total silence of the night. The cloaked figure they belonged to darted towards the left between two houses and stuck closely to the wall, even if its filthiness disgusted him to no end. He stood motionless, without breathing, for an entire minute, waiting for his pursuers to run past him. Only when there was silence around him again did he dare to move from his spot and keep running down the streets.

_I can't believe I've gone through so much crap for nothing_, he thought – he nearly said it out loud, but that would have given him away. Instead he kept his complaints to himself and only muttered a curse before climbing onto a balcony and thanking the gods that it was an easily accessible place. He was more than tired from his mission, and had it not it been a failure perhaps things would have been different. There he was, though, in the last place he wanted to be, still with a burden on his shoulders and exhausted.

He quickly decided he had had enough for that night and he'd deal with the idea of how his leader (or worse, his sister) would react at the news that he had brought nothing. He sighed.

_This really is the crappiest mission you've sent me on, Nasch. If you're not wearing one of your low cut shirts when I'm back as a reward I'll be pissed._

Somehow he felt better at the thought of the revealing shirts his leader wore and he began to picklock the balcony's window. The area he found himself in was borderline poor and even if he snuck into a house its inhabitants surely had very few things to bother to defend.

He smirked as the window gave in easily – way too easily – and he stumbled into the house. _Ungracefully_ stumbled, better said; it was a relief no one was around to see him. That would have ruined both his image and reputation. He stood up and arranged his clothes with a soft snort. He'd deal with his hair a bit later if he found a mirror; it must have been a mess under the hood.

After licking his lips twice and trying to have a look around (which was impossible given the darkness inside) he figured it would be better not to remain there. A bedroom wasn't a safe hideout. If anyone else sought shelter in that place, or worse, if it was already inhabited, his first goal had to be getting out of there. He stepped out of the room, glancing around to make sure no one was in sight.

His mission had been simple in theory – going on a two week hike towards the port city of Lemuria and waiting near its gates. A former noble's carriage was expected to pass by and the man held vital information necessary to recover the support the rebels he was part of had lost. That single document could have gotten them back on their feet, but no, he had to have bad luck, of course. Not that things ever went completely as planned with him.

_No, they never do_.

He clicked his tongue before descending into the hallway. The house was entirely dark and all candles on the walls unlit, not to mention it was so cold it chilled him to the bone. Perhaps some lovely damsel lived there and would keep him warm for the night, though that was thinking too much into things. As much as he hated being bothered by others, traveling solo wasn't usually what he did, but this job required someone to move fast and anyone else with him would only have been a burden.

Alit had offered to join him, but he really wanted to prove himself to Nasch for once and do things on his own. _Me and my stupid thinking._ _And crossing another canal on my own again will surely take me two extra days as well._ _Damn it._

Somehow he made it to the living room without making any noise – for a spy, being silent wasn't his forte – and stood there for a long moment to get familiar with his surroundings. The chimney seemed recently put out, so there was in fact someone living there, though their wealth wasn't something to envy. The room looked classy enough, but even in the dark the layers of dust on some furniture pieces indicated there was not enough money to pay servants.

_Even I keep my room cleaner than this._ He threw himself on the couch to catch his breath and take time to think. There were still two entire weeks left until he reached the old capital again and he would return with an empty hand. It pissed him off. No matter how many times he tried to carry off a mission on his own, there was always something that went wrong. And this time it had been the worst. Almost nobody showed anywhere nearLemuria's gates, and the only carriage that dignified to show up in _three whole days_ was a wine-carrying monk who begged for his life.

Yes, Nasch was going to be pissed and keep him from doing any field work and looking at maps for days again, and that was _boring_. He was absolutely sure that his leader would be much nicer if he found himself someone to smooch (and other things) at night. _Someone like me, I'm fine looking enough. Can't deny he looks fine either._

After not much thinking, he finally settled with resting in the servants' quarters, if there were any. He got up from the couch and turned towards the left to keep exploring. That was when he saw it – the sheath. Adorned with a family crest he knew too well and thought he'd someday forget. The star shaped swirls, pointing towards the corners of the violet circle made him change his mind: he'd find another house for the night, but he had to get out of there.

"Have you thieves fallen so low that now you come to steal from the poor?"

The air grew colder around him and he froze. No matter how many years passed, that was a voice he was unable to forget. He moved his head in its direction, towards the top of the staircase, where he was being glared at with familiar blue eyes. Not saying a word, he took a step back and kept his eyes on the now descending owner of the mansion.

"You people never fail to surprise me. As desperate as you are, stealing from the rich merchants in the first circle is one thing, but coming here at the end of the second one is ridiculous. We're as poor as you who live on the outskirts are here."

_I have to leave, I have to leave, I have to le –_ his train of thought was interrupted by a hand reaching for his hood and pulling it down to reveal the crimson and blond messy hair. There was a gasp in the air, whose it was he didn't know; and then, silence. A long heavy silence which pressed down on his shoulders, and he could feel his knees weaken until he had to lean on the wall behind him for support.

"…Thomas, you…you're alive." The man's shaky affirmation broke the silence. Thomas nodded and mustered a reply as cold as possible.

"It's been a long time, brother."

* * *

Nasch was angrily scribbling on a piece of paper, cutting names off the list in front of him and adding others, struggling with several mathematical operations and grunting desperately from time to time. At a point he felt overwhelmed by everything and threw the papers off the table, crossing his arms afterwards to show his displeasure.

From across the table Durbe looked at him over his glasses – Nasch thought they were in desperate need of a repair or that his friend should get a new pair – and gave him a questioning look at his behavior. Nasch huffed, knowing he was acting a bit childish, but he was at his limit. _Today's really been a shitty day._

"Anything wrong, Nasch?" Durbe questioned, his eyes falling back onto the kingdom map in front of him, as he returned to his writing. "You've been on edge all day."

"He's still not back." Nasch responded as if it were obvious and rubbed his temples. "And each day he spends out means more people giving up on our cause." Trusting Thomas was one thing, but giving him such a crucial task to go on alone had been a stupid move on his part and he internally cursed not urging Alit to follow even if Thomas had already left. The documents he was supposed to retrieve were everything they needed to get their supporters back, Nasch was sure of it.

Thomas had been gone now for two weeks and all Nasch wanted was him to come back already – definitely not because he enjoyed seeing his pretty face. He knew Lemuria was far and that the walk wasn't an easy one either; it still wasn't like Thomas to take so long and not even send a pigeon. Knowing him, he'd probably take at least another entire week to show up.

Durbe finally replied after folding the map into a roll and placing it under his arm. "Don't stress yourself over Thomas, you know he's more than capable of taking care of himself."

Nasch rolled his eyes. "I know he's more than capable of messing things up. He's catches attention way too easily."

"You still trust him enough to give him a high rank amongst us," Durbe pointed out and push up his glasses, which were falling off his nose. "And we _do_ have to recognize that Thomas has proven himself of great help and loyalty more than once."

"Yes, in a _team_."

"Give him a chance on his own."

Nasch sighed and gave in. There was no use in arguing with Durbe, who always pulled out a comeback from the gods knew from where. He grunted a 'fine' and picked the accounting papers up from the floor, determined to have both Durbe and Thomas respond if the latter returned without what they needed. "How is your task going?" He asked, finding it better to just end the conversation.

It was Durbe's turn to wear a dark face. "Mh, not well at all. I must admit that Heartland outdid himself with this one. He's got us in a pinch."

Nasch frowned. "Are you telling me you've found no way over it, Durbe?" Durbe's long silence was enough of an answer for him and Nasch stood up, trailing around the table – he always did that when he was in deep thought and had no idea how to get out of a situation. "Great, simply great," he spat in annoyance, "what are we supposed to do now that the route is ru –"

"Nasch, Durbe found no way over it, but let's keep in mind that he still hasn't consulted sleeping beauty about this." Merag's soothing voice rang from the window where she had been standing the entire time; she walked towards them at a calm pace and smiled. The effect on Nasch was immediate; he smiled, and sat back down. He sometimes hated his sister for the power she had over him, though she seemed to truly enjoy it. "How is Mizael hanging in?"

Durbe reached for the cup of coffee forgotten in front of him – both Nasch and Merag caught the softening of his features at the name's mention but didn't comment on it – and shook his head. "As well as he can. His fever has gone down and the wound isn't bleeding anymore."

"That's reassuring. Will you consult him about this as well?" Nasch had his hopes riding on both of them. Their teamwork was flawless, and even Heartland's best strategy couldn't hold them back if they were both on the run. Mizael's recent wound had also affected their advance and all the progress they'd made over the years was slowly being lost.

"Count on me to. I was about to go check at him and if he's well enough we won't take long to work on this together."

"It's late, maybe you should leave it for tomorrow."

"I can handle it." Durbe's reply was short; Nasch didn't insist anymore and hugged his friend briefly as an apology for his previous anger. It wasn't Durbe's fault things were getting more difficult and as a leader it was Nasch's duty to keep his temper. Durbe was but a strategist and even if he was the most intelligent it wasn't good to overwork him either.

"Then take care, my friend. And have a good night."

"Goodnight." Durbe's brief smile and bow before leaving the room warmed Nasch's heart and he exhaled, knowing that despite anything the other probably wouldn't sleep at all that night. He glanced at Merag, who was waiting for him at the table with two wine glasses and a bottle. He refused – drinking wouldn't leave his mind clear and he didn't need that.

"Thinking about Thomas?" Merag sounded worried and she _was_ right to be so, yet it still bothered him she acted so motherly towards him at times. Next thing he knew she'd be sending him to bed.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You have that bitter face you make whenever he crosses your mind, so I'd say yes." Merag let out a chuckle and brushed some blue bangs out of her face, "well, if you're not up for a drink, I should be going too. I still have to make sure everything is in order down in the armory before going to sleep."

Nasch nodded and went to look at the window in the exact same spot Merag had occupied while Durbe and he had been talking. He heard her leave as well and glanced up at the moon; it was full that night and of a beautiful pale color. It relaxed him. As children their mother used to tell him stories about how making a wish on the full moon would fulfill it for those who were ready to play a price.

_Bring that idiot back safely_. In all honesty he cared more at that moment about Thomas than a bunch of late documents, as crucial as they were. It was a selfish thought – more than one life depended on him, roughly a million people whose future hung on the course of action _he_ decided to take and it certainly was no moment to worry about a single person. Even so, Nasch was tired of losing people he cared for. _Tsch, how stupid can I get. Those feelings have brought me nothing good at all up to this point._ Distancing himself from unnecessary attachments was something he still needed to work on – for his good, for _everyone's_ good.

_I have no idea where any of this is going anymore. Please don't mess up at the palace, Vector, you're our last hope if anything else goes wrong._ A risky last hope, his subconscious added as he pulled the curtain to cover the moonlight and turned his back towards it. Perhaps he needed some rest too. After all, overthrowing a king wasn't a task to be taken lightly.

* * *

Kaito spun one last time in front of the mirror to check that the hem of his coat was flattened down before feeling satisfied with how he looked. His father had insisted on Kaito joining him and King Heartland for dinner that night so His Majesty could get to know Kaito after he'd been boasted about for years. Kaito sighed. He didn't like the king, he didn't like his way of governing, but if he wanted the _slightest _chance to be chosen as the next heir he had to go through all this.

He had seen Heartland before but never directly interacted with him – and Kaito was glad for that, for more than one thing the king said had made him want to slap some common sense into him. Hopefully his life would be short and Kaito'd be soon on the throne, his father would be happy his son was king, and Kaito could do what really mattered.

It wasn't like _he_ was going to be the one to rule anyway. His father had wanted the reigns of the country for good years and never failed to show it; Kaito despised him for being such a greedy man, but there was something more important that made him follow along with his father's plans. There was only one reason why he was accepting any of that and that was –

"Kaito, are you ready son?" His father was staring at him from the doorway with fingers tapping on the frame. Kaito forced a smile and nodded.

"Always am, father." _He would have done the same. I know he would. I just hope he understands._ Kaito followed him down the hallway keeping all his unpleasant comments to himself, the figure trailing behind them passing unnoticed.

* * *

"Chris, put the knife down." Thomas spoke calmly, though he was in quite a compromising position – his brother pushing him against one of the walls, a knife in his other hand that threatened to slice his throat the moment he did the slightest move. His own hands were reaching down for the weapons in his pockets, but Chris would most likely have him dead before he got to touch one.

They had been in the same position for several minutes and only then did Thomas find the courage to speak; Chris was staring so accusingly at him it _broke_ him on the inside, because he knew no possible answer he could give would be worth it in his brother's eyes. There wasn't any turning back at that point anyway.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice…_this?_" Chris pointed accusingly at the purple tattoo that adorned his left eye and cheek.

"It's not like I was trying to hide it from you," Thomas muttered in his defense, not losing sight from the weapon at his throat.

"As if you could, it's blatantly plastered on your face. You're a _Barian_." Hatred and disgust coated his brother's voice and Thomas resisted with all his might from wincing. He never thought Chris out of all people would speak like that to him; it was as if his biggest nightmare was unfolding right in front of him.

"What astonishing piece of news, Chris, do tell me more. I had no idea."

"Don't you dare disrespect me, I'm still your older brother. Both Michael and I have been extremely worried about you, and when you were confirmed dead we, no, _I-_"

"There was _no corpse_, and if you honestly thought that a small river torrent could be my end you disappoint me. I thought you saw me with better eyes." He teased more than he intended to and the slap it earned him left a burning red mark on his face, skin tingling painfully.

"You haven't shown up in four years! That's enough for anyone to take you for dead, seeing as I didn't think you'd fall so low as to _abandon_ us! And yet here you are, breathing and healthy…with that horrible marking on your face to top it. Every ounce of respect I had for you, you've thrown it all down the drain."

Thomas glanced away from Chris for the first time – his words had hurt him deeper than any slap or blade cutting into his skin. Of course Chris had every right to hate him, but that didn't mean it would hurt less or that Thomas was willing to accept it. Being rejected by Chris had always been his biggest fear; and despite himself he desperately wished there was still a way out of that.

"I'm only doing what I consider right," he muttered.

"Oh, and what is that, being a murderer and a villain? My own brother turned into a ruffian – you've fallen low."

"I am no such thing!"

"That tattoo clearly says otherwise."

"You're getting it all wrong. Barians are not criminals, Chris, they are—" Thomas was interrupted by his own gasp of surprise and disbelief when the knife pressed into his flesh and drew a drop of blood; it wasn't painful, but he still had to suppress a sound. He hadn't expected him to actually attempt to harm him in any way and when their gazes finally met realization hit him hard – Chris had changed.

His expression was harsh and tired; it held none of the softness it used to present when they spent time together reading on the porch of their old home. His voice was lower too, and it was so similar to their father's that it almost _repulsed_ Thomas. No, Chris morphing into a perfect copy of _him_ was something he wouldn't accept; it would only happen over his own corpse.

"Why?!" Chris's question echoed off the walls and brought Thomas back from his daydream, and he noticed the grip on the knife tighten under Chris's white knuckles. "After all we promised to each other, why did you _dare_ to leave me like this?"

Thomas huffed. Now that was something that ticked him off and it was his turn to sound cold and hurt.

"If you're asking me this, then you clearly haven't kept many of those promises yourself."

The knife dropped to the floor and Thomas instinctively put a hand to his neck to check for the wound. It was nothing, and he made to look at Chris again but his brother was already returning upstairs, and didn't even bother to turn around to look at him.

"Father isn't home," he said coldly, "so you can spend the night in your old room. I want you out in the morning." He disappeared in the hallway and the lock to his bedroom clicked.

Thomas had no idea how he ended up between of the cold sheets of his old bed, but there was one thing he was sure of – that one single tear that had fallen on the carpet on the way there _definitely_ wasn't his.

* * *

Vector had lost interest in the two Tenjos quite quickly. He had expected to get something from them on the way to the dining hall but they made scarcely any conversation, and as much as he enjoyed family tensions, there was nothing to pique his curiosity, so he left. He went to spend his time in one of the palace's roof gardens instead; he'd have enough time to find out more juicy gossip later and his audience with Heartland wasn't until two days from then.

He snarled at the full moon after lying down in the grass, thinking that it was a truly beautiful night. At weeks distance from where he was, Nasch was surely gazing up at the same moon and waiting for answers only Vector had access to at that moment. _Be patient, Nasch. Patience is the key, and timing is the keyhole. Once the two of them fit perfectly, you'll finally have all you've ever wanted at your feet. And you will be at mine. _

He laughed to himself and closed his eyes. The future was going to be delightful indeed.


	2. Dark Skies

It took Durbe awhile to reach the room he was looking for. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that it was on the third floor and other end of the building, but then again it was more likely that it was his own preoccupation with the situation they were in. He almost turned back three times, intending to go back to his room, because he thought that he shouldn't bother Mizael and should allow him to rest a bit more.

His mind changed quickly when he pictured Nasch disappointed in him – Mizael was strong and was surely well – so even though his hand hovered for an entire minute over the door handle, he eventually opened it and walked in. Mizael for was still lying in bed, covers pulled up to his neck, his blond hair messily cascading down the right side of the bed and his forehead covered in sweat.

His breath was uneven and Durbe clicked his tongue; he regretted having come to see Mizael in this state. He approached the bed silently, dragged a chair next to it, and sat down. Carefully, he took a water drenched cloth from the basin at the bed end and placed it on Mizael's forehead to relieve his fever. _First, make sure he is fine, and leave right after,_ Durbe told himself before pressing two fingers to Mizael's pale neck to check his pulse. It was normal.

He pulled the covers aside to have a look at the wound itself; the bandages around Mizael's torso were clean and that was progress, as the wound had opened up more than once in the past two weeks. Durbe glanced once more at his partner's face and moved his bangs to the side to reveal the two red markings on his cheeks.

Face tattoos were what marked Mizael and everyone else in the organization as Barians; Durbe himself had one teal swirl that went round right eye and curled down to his earlobe, resembling the glasses he wore most of the time.

The only one of them who didn't have one was Vector, but Vector was a special case. He was their outside man and in spite of everyone's protests, Nasch had let him be. Mizael and Merag were the ones who most vocally expressed how bothered they were by this. _He's not to be trusted if he doesn't go all the way_, that was their point; Durbe agreed, but there was no going against Nasch's orders.

Durbe's hand lingered above Mizael's face. He had the urge to cup his cheek like he used to do years ago. That would be unwise, though; things had changed and their friendship had been set aside to focus on their work.

"Durbe, what are you doing?"

Mizael sat up with his back propped into the espalier. He followed Durbe's hand up his arm to his eyes, until Durbe moved his hand back to his lap and stared away from him, into a corner of the room.

"I came to check on you."

"I already told you I was fine when you did the same thing this morning." Mizael sounded annoyed, but his words held a certain amusement. "I don't need you to show up every five minutes to see if I am alright."

"I simply worry about you."

"Too much."

"Seeing how stubborn and hot headed you are, I'd say I don't worry enough."

Mizael snorted and he crossed his arms. "What are you, my mother?"

There it was, the opening he needed. Durbe pushed his glasses up with his pointer finger and smiled innocently. "Fortunately not, but then again…you walk behind me, let me scold you and listen to whatever I say, and I'm the one constantly taking care of you." He laughed. "Perhaps I am."

He was rewarded by Mizael's blush; seeing him feverishly deny all of Durbe's words while his fingers tapped nervously on his knees was a sight not to be missed. "I don't do any of that!"

"You _do_."

"No I don't, I only listen to you because I know you're right and not because I see you as some motherly figure."

"And the scolding?"

"I don't like raising my voice and protesting."

"For someone who does that all the time those are big words."

"I don't –" Mizael sighed, defeated. "A-anyway, did you come here only to babysit me or," he finally noticed the neatly folded map waiting on his table, "I should have guessed. We've got work to do."

Durbe leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. That was what he had come here for and even if he missed all the friendly bickering, the past was the past. The moment was over.

"Yes it is," he answered and dragged the wooden table beside the bed so that they could both lean over the map once Durbe sprawled it open.

"What is it this time, another raiding mission or something else?" Mizael shifted positions and rested his chin on Durbe's shoulder, his hair pulled up in a bun so it wouldn't obstruct his vision.

"Something else. And it's extremely serious."

"Fill me in."

Durbe took a pencil that he was holding in the left pocket of his trousers and filled in one of the canal branches with it, all the way from the north to one of the water accumulation zones. The sudden furious frown on Mizael's face was clue enough that he had understood what was going on without any needed explanation; the way he slammed his hands in frustration onto the table even more so. "You must be kidding me."

"I wish I were…"

"Brilliant, absolutely _brilliant_."

"Mizael, complaining won't help us in any way –"

"I am aware of that," Mizael spat out, "but at least let me show my displeasure. This is a low blow. And if they're cutting off that branch exactly, does it mean that they know we're here?"

"Not necessarily, but we will have to be more cautious from now on."

After mumbling several curses into Durbe's shoulder Mizael moved away from it and dragged his still weak body to the side of the bed. Having his legs lying down was making it hard to look at the map form a good angle so he sat in the same position as Durbe, feet on the floor and shoulders using the table as support.

He reached for a pen as well and bit into its end. He always needed to bite into something when he was concentrating or it wasn't the same; that was his excuse, but the only thing Durbe got out of it was that they had no unbitten writing instruments left in the building.

The Barian headquarters were located in the old capital city of Caligo on the outskirts of the country. The canal was half a day's ride away, and it was their only source of water. If it were dried out, they would lose both the fastest way into the inner circle of Sargas and water they needed badly to irrigate the crops. The crops were badly needed, too, because they were already suffering food shortages.

When Heartland had come into power thirty years before, he implemented a new political system based both on wealth and social status, where the two went hand in hand – if a person became poor their position was also downgraded, and to lose one's title was to lose their fortune as well. Sargas had begun as a settlement at the north end of the Numeron River, and had expanded swiftly due to the ideal placement of the river, which provided the citizens with commercial prospects and easy travel. As the population began to expand out form the river, a canal system had been built to supply them with water and to make regional travel easier. The network of canals formed a kind of wheel made of concentric circles and spokes, and in the center the capital had been built.

Heartland had divided the country by socioeconomic status: in the hellish outermost ring were the poorest, the ex-nobility and the less successful merchants lived in the second, and in the first and innermost ring were the wealthy nobility with the king's favor. With a toll system designed to let no one cross from circle to circle without Heartland's signature on their papers, the hierarchy of the nation was maintained.

That was where the Barians came in. Not only did they provide food and materials, but they snuck in passes for people as well. They were insurers of hope, or at least that's what they were until nobody wanted to get involved with them anymore. And now, their canal about to be drained, they were becoming more and more powerless to fight Heartland's regime.

Durbe had been watching Mizael's expressions change from worried to angry to thoughtful for an hour before he cleared his throat. "Got anything?"

Mizael fell backwards on the bed, arms folded beneath his head. "Not a clue. It seems that we're in for an all-nighter."

"Or several."

"Or several." Mizael snickered. "Do we have enough coffee for all of this?"

"I drank the last cup before coming to see you."

"Charming."

"Always am." Durbe stood up and smiled, leaving his glasses on a corner of the map. "I can go find something to eat, though, it shouldn't be an issue as long as Merag doesn't catch me."

"So if you don't come back I can assume you're dead?"

"Very dead."

They both stood in silence for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Durbe shook his head and left with the promise of returning as soon as possible, and Mizael remained on the bed, with his eyes fixed on the lit point of the ceiling right above the candle that still burned on the table.

_Someday you'll be dead, Heartland. Then it will be all over and Nasch will fulfill his promise, and Durbe and I will finally…_

He fell asleep before getting to finish his thought, still exhausted from everything that was happening lately. And when Durbe returned without the snacks, Merag's handprint red and sore on his face, he simply covered Mizael back with the sheets, kissed his forehead, and left him with a soft _goodnight_.

* * *

_Are they ever going to shut up?_

Kaito refrained from rolling his eyes for the fifth time that night and stared straight ahead, tired of looking from his father to Heartland to his father and listening to them rant about politics. How long had they been having dinner for anyway? More than an hour, and the conversation wasn't getting the slightest bit interesting. He would have joined in but he realized very soon that he didn't share a single opinion with any of them, and preferred to keep himself silent and curse them both in his head. _They're lucky I need to act polite._

The two older men laughed one more time at one of their disgusting jokes and Kaito couldn't silence his groan; the way he was stared at by both made him regain his composure and pretend none of that happened. Heartland swirled the red wine in his glass before sipping from it. He opened his mouth to talk, and Kaito resisted the urge to cover his ears; if there was a man with a more annoying accent than Heartland in the entire world, he'd rather not know.

_And now they're making status jokes, how very original of them._ Kaito began to shift in his seat, uncomfortable with where the whole talk was going. He wasn't very fond of how things were out there or of the poor, but that didn't mean he made tasteless jokes about it.

After twenty more minutes of holding back his urges to punch something – preferably someone – Kaito was about to stand up and excuse himself. He didn't get to. Faker had shot him a 'don't you dare move' look and set his glass down, serious.

"It's reached my ears that you still haven't found an heir yet, my friend."

Heartland's smile vanished and his fork clattered in the now empty plate. "You haven't heard wrong, yet what's with this all of a sudden? I've been heirless for five years only, there's still time for –"

"Ah, but you never know what could happen, and you wouldn't like to leave your kingdom in just anyone's hands, now would you. A lot of courtesans are swarming like hornets to get a chunk out of your fortune."

"I know. What are you trying to suggest here?"

"My son here, Kaito," Faker pointed at him and Kaito was taken by surprise; he sat up as straight as he could and bowed his head politely at the king. "He's a very well raised young man, not to mention intelligent and behaved. He's fluent in four languages and has the best grasp of mathematics I've ever seen in someone his age."

_Ugh, spare me this crap…_Kaito's and Heartland's eyes met and he held the gaze as well as he could. _Maybe if I picture him choking on something I'll have a better day._

"You're telling me you're offering your son for the position?" There was a hint of incredulity in the king's voice, though mostly directed towards Kaito than Faker. "This is something new to me. Have you been thinking about this for long?"

"For around a year now, but I wanted to make sure Kaito was prepared for it first. I can assure you he's worth it, my king, and will perfectly fill the spot of your lost dear daughter."

"Faker. What have we said about mentioning her _or_ the incident?" Heartland's voice ran cold and Kaito could feel himself shiver. The times when his father lost his tact were embarrassing but he knew better than anyone else that that was a sensitive subject.

"Y-yes, excuse me. All I ask is for you to take him into consideration." Faker rushed to correct himself. There was too much at stake for him to make mistakes.

"I will. Bring him along at some of our meetings, I want to see how he handles it all, and I'll give you an answer in a few months."

_Spend actual time with him? Gods no._ Kaito exhaled, rose from his seat and bowed; he had to play his cards right and push aside all his aversions. There was no room for taking it lightly. "I'll be delighted to, sir. If I may I'd like to be excused, there are some issues at home that require my presence."

"I'll be going with him as well." Faker followed suite and asked for the servants to bring his coat – an awkward boat ride back home next to his father was the last thing Kaito wanted but there was no fighting it now.

He went to wait in front of the main gates for the two men to get over their goodbyes and stared at the moon. Nostalgia took over him and he quickly averted his eyes from it, staring at the ground instead. Remembering the past wasn't going to help him at all in his situation, yet he couldn't help it. At the back of his mind _he_ was constantly there; perhaps he ought to remember him in his good times, when they were both happy, but the way they parted was the only thing coming back to him. The utterly _betrayed _look on his face.

_How dare you do this to me, Kaito._

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Kaito muttered in the lowest voice possible, because he knew that raising it even a bit would cause it to break. He forced himself to return to the present and remained silent the entire way back home despite his father's attempts to engage in conversation.

When they crossed into the first circle and finally reached the house, Kaito ran to the mansion at full speed. He had been gone from home for too long, and he was concerned about what he'd find inside. He opened the door in a haste and rushed up the stairs, ignoring all of Faker's calls for him. The room was at the end of a hallway, and Kaito nearly crashed into the door on his way in.

"_No!_"

His little brother was lying there, tucked under layers and layers of sheets, paler than Kaito had left him that morning. His chest wasn't moving, and Kaito feared for the worst as he reached out to touch his face. _Cold_. That was the moment when Kaito lost it and fell to his knees, openly crying his heart out and screaming his brother's, _Haruto'_s name at the top of his lungs.

* * *

Thomas snapped his eyes open when the rays of sun _rudely_ hit him on the face to wake him up. He grunted an 'it's too fucking early' and rolled over, taking a pillow and holding it over his head to keep the light away. _That's strange, why are the cushions so soft…Don't tell me Nasch finally dignified to buy me a bed in good condition._

It took very little for the events from the past night to come back into his mind and him to jump out of bed – he _had_ told Chris he'd be out in the morning and even if he wanted to stay and spend at least five minutes with him to sort things out, there was no place for brotherly affection between them. Not at that very moment.

He paused in front of the mirror to make his appearance presentable before throwing the cloak over his shoulders and going downstairs. Then he froze; what was he thinking? It was broad daylight outside and the guards could still be looking for him; it was too risky to move out yet, so he'd have to wait for nightfall, in spite of Chris's threats from the previous evening.

_Tch, great, what now. _His eyes fell on the old dusted piano forgotten in a corner of the living room. It looked like nobody had played it in ages and Thomas didn't doubt it. He was the only one of them who had continued with his lessons past the basic skills the three brothers were taught as he genuinely enjoyed playing it. He figured that it wasn't in tune seeing its state.

Thomas hesitated, stepping towards it and then back again, and then he gave in and approached the piano, wiping the dust off with a corner of his cloak.

_Letting her get like this, my poor Angeline. Missed my fingers over you? _Thomas slid into the chair left next to it and opened the lid. He wheezed from the sheer amount of dust that billowed out.

It took half an hour of thorough cleaning before Thomas was satisfied. That done, he took a deep breath and let his eyelids slide shut; four long years since he'd last played a piano. Any piano. He feared not doing his beloved Angeline justice as he pressed the first key and the tinkle of it filled the room. _It's…in tune?_

He gained more confidence as he continued to play – Thomas was surprised himself that he could still pull off an entire song without any noticeable mistake – and towards the end of it was smiling warmly at the music that came from the neatly polished ivory keys. Thomas hadn't felt so at ease in forever, and in a way he was happy he had landed in his home. _Somewhat_. His father not being there was what made things bearable.

The floorboards creaking behind him broke the spell the music had created around him and he turned around to face Chris, whose expression was warm. It was almost as if they had gone back several years, where neither of them held anything against the other. A pointless illusion, certainly, but a welcomed one.

"…You play as well as ever." Chris took a seat next to his brother and tentatively touched a key. "That song, what was it called?"

"Mournful Serenade." Thomas mumbled while following the movement of Chris's hand. "It was the –"

"– first song you ever composed. You were thirteen and the music teacher had given up because you had 'absolutely no talent'. I remember."

"Then don't ask."

"I was trying to offer you small talk before kicking you out. You're here. Either you've gone deaf or you're ignoring what I say more than ever." Chris commenced a simple ballade that consisted of the same four chords all over again, played one octave lower from where Thomas still had his fingers positioned.

"I can't leave in the middle of the day." Thomas snarled back his response, playing absent-mindedly on his own side, following the notes Chris was playing. "You said it yourself, I'm some sort of _ruffian_."

Chris shifted into another tonality, adding several flats to the one he was already in. "That situation is none of my business. I could call the guards and collect the bounty on your head."

Thomas followed the music with ease, frowning as he pressed one key harder than the others. "So now you're telling me you'd sell me out without remorse?"

"Do you think I could do such a thing?"

"The you I used to know wouldn't."

"The _me_ you used to know was useless. He couldn't save his family." He went one octave lower inviting Thomas to move down the scale as well but Thomas went upwards instead, accepting the silent challenge.

"None of what happened was your fault, Chris."

"Too much of it was."

"It pains me that you still think so."

"It pains me that you haven't yet realized that I'm not the perfect being you take me for." They came to a halt at the same time and stared into nothing; Thomas was busy wording a refusal while Chris didn't fail to catch the hint of a blush in the young man's cheeks. The familiarity of it all was painfully ironic; weren't they doing the exact same thing the night before Thomas abandoned him?

"You're still the same cute little brother as always."

"Shut up."

"Don't want to." Chris smirked, teasing further. "_Cute_."

"No, I'm not cute. I'm a man."

"That doesn't prove anyth –" Their heads turned towards the door, Chris the first one to stand up and grab Thomas's shoulders deaf to his protests. A carriage had stopped outside and recognized the heavy boots stomping at the entrance, and the sound of the metal keys jangling. "Chris, what are you doing?" Thomas struggled but was powerless against him; he ended up shoved inside a closet just in time for the door to creak and a heavily dressed middle aged man to walk in.

Chris hastily assumed a polite expression and went to greet him, hoping nothing weird would catch his attention or feel out of place. Thomas almost burst out of the closet to lash at Chris for putting him in such a_ dirty_ place and for heaven's sake it was extremely hard to breathe, but all will left him when he heard something he had hoped not to ever listen to again.

"Christopher, why are you still in your night gowns?"

Thomas gulped. His father was home, and now he was in deep trouble. _Very_ deep trouble.

* * *

The cart jolted for the seventh time as it hopped over another stone; the horses pulling it neighed lazily. The driver was dozing off only kept awake by the barrel of beer beside him.

The two passengers in the backseat were wide awake. They didn't ever sleep, and the driver tried his best to chalk that up to his imagination. They could have been twins – pale, both of them, with matching hairstyles and one gold eye each – but they didn't act like brothers. One of them had a black hair and one black eye, and the other's hair and eye were pale blue.

"Astral." The black-haired one nudged the other, yawning. He was bored to death and pondering if any of it was worth it anymore.

"What is it?" The reply came in the usual toneless and tranquilizing voice. It was idiotic, to enjoy hearing it when it was the blandest thing in the entire universe. Even so it was pleasant for his ears.

"I still don't get why we're here."

"I've told you, Black Mist, there are some things I want to learn about."

"_You_ want to, why drag me around?"

"Have I ever done anything without you?"

"No, but—"

"Then your question makes no sense. Observation number three hundred five, even after all these years, you insist to ask me things you already know about. "

"Whatever. What's all the fuss about then?"

"Love."

Black Mist scoffed. _Of course_. That was what all of it was about, and Black Mist couldn't help ask himself how Astral could still enjoy anything when all he talked about was _love_.

"Don't you believe in love?" Astral caught his attention with a tap on the shoulder and he turned around to look at his face.

"It's something stupid."

"I thought you loved me." How interesting, Astral almost sounded disappointed.

"My affection for you goes beyond the term of _love_. There's no word for it."

"But love is the ultimate concept."

"I fail to understand."

"Then I'll prove it to you. We're far from done here, remember."

"As long as I don't get more bored than I already am."

"Things are about to get interesting, I promise."

Black Mist took Astral's hand and shrugged, simply content that he had gotten the two words he needed from him. "That, I'll believe."

"Then let's go. We're close to our destination."

"Idiot, we're already moving."

"This is slow."

"Don't complain, you were the one who wanted to travel like this to, what was it, 'sightsee'."

"I do not recall such a statement leaving my mouth."

Black Mist growled; it was useless to argue with Astral about anything, not because he was right but because he always encountered a way to twist the conversation in his favor. He settled for the best answer in that situation. "I know you too well to go on with this."

"Why so sure?"

"Because we've been together forever."

"And we'll be together forever."

"Promise?"

"Oath."

"Then you're mine."

"I'm yours. And you're mine."

"I'm yours."

"Comforting to know."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"It's not."

"Hmpf, then I'll say the same."

"No matter where we go…"

"…as long as we're together…"

"Nobody and nothing else matters."

Their fingers intertwined and Astral closed his eyes as well. Their foreheads touched. Astral was smiling at him; unfortunately, Black Mist wasn't witnessing the rare occurrence. They were going to have a lot of fun, that was for certain. And he would teach Black Mist a well needed lesson about love. The actors were all in their places for it, and as the moon bathed them both in its light he planted a kiss on Black Mist's hand. Their entertainment was finally assured.


	3. Drinking and Dreams

"You're always overdoing things, Kaito." Faker said for the fourth time.

Kaito had stopped paying attention. Haruto was pressed against his chest, wrapped in several blankets, while servants came in and out of the room with more hot food and drinks to keep Haruto's body warm.

It had thankfully been a false alarm and his little brother was alive – that didn't mean that he was well at all since nobody had taken care of closing his window or keeping him warm – and Kaito knew that it was only a matter of time before someone slipped up. When his father repeated himself once more, Kaito didn't try to hide his huff.

"I'm not, you know as well as I do how bad Haruto's condition is."

"Nonsense, it's irrelevant." Faker replied. He gestured to the servants to stop bringing things in. Kaito glared hatefully at him; the indifference he showed when it came to his younger son (or Kaito himself for the matter) was unbelievable and downright insulting.

"Irrelevant? Are you hearing what's coming out of your mouth? The doctor clearly told both of us that if we don't take proper care of him he'll—"

"That's enough." He was cut off and Faker headed towards the door. "Please do not make such a big fuss next time you imagine things."

Kaito was about to retort when Haruto shifted and tried weakly to grasp Kaito's hand. All his anger towards Faker turned into tenderness for the fragile boy he was holding and he offered him the warmest of smiles before tugging him closer.

"I'm here Haruto, it's all right."

"Big brother only tried to protect me, papa, don't be mad at him." His voice was frail; no doubt their father hadn't heard it over the sound of his heavy steps echoing down the stairs. Kaito ran a hand through Haruto's hair and had him turn around to have an attempt at feeding him; it was a slow and hard process, but at least Haruto was keeping it down, unlike other times where Haruto wouldn't even eat because of how sick he was feeling.

"How was the party, big brother?" Kaito couldn't help but smile at the attempt to change conversation subject. Nobody knew him better than Haruto, except perhaps for…but that person was no longer at his side.

"It wasn't a party, it was a business meeting with the king," Kaito said as he wiped some tomato sauce that was going down Haruto's chin. _Adorable._

"That sounds really boring," Haruto pouted before cuddling closer. "Was it boring?"

"It sort of was."

"Then why did you go? You don't like boring stuff."

Kaito exhaled and threaded his fingers through Haruto's locks. They were getting a bit sweaty and he had to keep him warm if he didn't want another rough cold to strike him. "I had to. Remember I told you I have a very important mission?"

Haruto nodded and Kaito puffed his chest out with exaggerated pride to get all the positive reactions he could. "That was one of my trials and I went through it with great difficulty, but I have survived it to return back to you."

Haruto giggled. "You almost fell asleep _or_ wanted something to happen so you could go, didn't you."

"Oh no, I've been caught lying, what will ever happen to me?" Kaito faked a concerned tone which pleased his sibling greatly – it was plain to see when Haruto had made him fall backwards onto the bed and was pulling at his ears.

"A punishment, punishment, Kaito will get a punishment!"

"No, someone save me!" Their laughter filled the room, brightening both their spirits. Spending time with Haruto was the highlight of Kaito's day, but it was growing more and more difficult with Haruto's condition worsening, and with his own obligations at the palace. He was only willing to endure it for the sake of saving Haruto's life.

After Haruto calmed down, Kaito convinced Haruto to get back in bed with the promise they would sleep together that night. Haruto liked someone to hold during the night. Things were in motion now; their time together was limited.

Haruto looked extremely small snuggled up into his side like that, more so than he already was with all his growth problems. Worrying at that moment would do no good, though, so Kaito pushed his bad thoughts away for the moment, hugging Haruto without crushing him and closing his eyes.

"Big brother?" Haruto broke the silence with a whisper.

"Yes?"

"When will he be back?" Kaito's eyelids snapped open at the innocent question. He sat up and blew out the bed candle so his darkened expression couldn't be noticed easily and looked once more towards Haruto.

"We've already talked about this, I don't know. Please do not mention him anymore."

"But I miss him and want him back, Kaito, I-"

"I said _don't_." Kaito was quick to shut him up. He recognized that trait from his father and it ticked him off that he'd be like that man in any way but there were things he didn't want Haruto to mention; he knew where the conversation was heading to and they'd had it more than once. He wouldn't have it again and risk ruining his determination to go on and not look at the past – Haruto's future was the most important thing.

Kaito kissed Haruto's forehead goodnight before falling asleep. He'd have to work even harder starting the next day, but he knew it would pay off.

* * *

Chris found it impossible to settle himself, and he paced through the living room, hoping that his father would not look in the closet, and that Thomas wouldn't be so stupid as to come out. If Thomas's presence there was revealed, they would both have to suffer dire consequences, and regardless of how terrifying his would be Thomas's were bound to be ten times worse.

Byron had taken a seat on the couch, coat left on the armrest. Chris was quick to take it and put it in the closet himself. Thomas looked urgently at him, and Chris shushed him with a finger over his lips. He shoved Byron's heavy coat into his arms and closed the door again.

He returned to Byron and stood in front of him waiting for the usual instructions. Byron seemed in a good mood and that was something rare enough to put Chris off. He played with a lock of hair coming out of his braid, trying to find some appropriate words since he hadn't even greeted him. Luckily it was Byron who broke the silence first.

"Son, why are you still in your night clothes?" Chris took a moment to register the question and find a good answer to it, his mouth hanging open the entire time. He mentally slapped himself to get a grip and adopted a calm composure.

"I overslept today, father, and thought I heard something in the street so I came down to look out the window and check."

"Couldn't you have done that from your room?" Byron tapped his foot on the carpet rather slowly. It was a habit he had when he was mistrustful towards something which made Chris come to the conclusion that his explanation was quite dumb.

"I was too asleep to consider that option." The statement seemed more convincing and Byron brushed that conversation off quickly, moving to something more of his interest. Chris followed Byron's finger towards where he was pointing and swallowed, realizing what was wrong.

"Is there no more wine?"

"I-I forgot to find more while you were out, I do apologize." Byron had the bad habit of drinking all the wine in the house whenever there was any available. He rarely got drunk, but it still made him edgy and hard to communicate with, and he demanded it a lot. It being a rare drink to find in that area of the country was one of the few reasons Chris was glad they had moved there.

Byron's mood had visibly darkened and Chris prayed no fit was to follow the frown on his face. He made it to the drink cabinet and took out the half bottle of whisky they had left. It seemed to have a positive effect as the glass was welcomed and Byron sipped from it with a pleased hum. "This does it for now, but do get some wine next time."

"Yes, father." Chris finally managed to relax as well and sat down on one of the chairs he pulled closer to the couch to face him properly. The tension from before wasn't there anymore but that didn't mean it couldn't rise again so Chris thought it better to wait for Byron to talk first about any occurrence on his journey.

There was no word spoken until the glass of whiskey was finished and set down on the small table between them; Chris's father clicked his tongue and set his body heavily into the couch, feet now up on the table. "Aren't you going to ask me how it went? Remember this trip extremely important for both of us."

"I was expecting you to initiate conversation yourself if there was anything worth mentioning. By your bright mood when you arrived I can assume that your petition has been accepted?"

Byron shook his head, muttering something before talking for both of them. "Not exactly, but it hasn't been rejected either. There might be a way to sneak you in."

"Really?" Thomas heard the excitement in Chris's voice from inside the closet and a few more words were exchanged which he didn't take a grip of. He squinted and moved inside slowly but close to the door enough to capture sounds again, confused and intrigued by his brother's sudden excitement. _Sneak him in? Where…what is all this about, tch, fucking hell Chris you could have at least hidden me under the table._

He caught the dialogue and grumpily hung Byron's coat up so he didn't have hold it anymore, too annoyed by its weight.

"So that's all we've got?" Thomas held his breath, determined not to miss a word.

"Yes, for now, it will take some time to place you inside but I think it's worth it. After all these years we're finally doing it, son."

"I'm happy." Chris replied with all sincerity and poured Byron another glass of whiskey, sparing some of it for himself since he considered it a fit occasion for a bit of drinking. Things were going according to plan and the years of waiting would be worth it. He could relax for a moment. "Nothing else happened while you were and your friend's place?"

Byron brushed a lock of hair from his face and smiled. "We had a talk about old times, it was nice to remember good things as well instead of only the bad ones. We spoke about some old long finished business and I got my hands on some compromising documents. Perhaps I should burn them, but I want to give them a re-read first to make sure there's nothing of value for our cause here since Faker was involved as well."

Thomas almost jolted out of the closet when he heard the word 'documents' but he stood put and pressed even more against the door, needing to know if those documents were what he thought. He kept his hopes low to not be hit by any deception.

"What kind of papers?" Chris inquired, standing up to check if they had any alcohol left only to be welcomed by empty bottles everywhere.

"It's a private matter, I'll tell you more if I find anything of worth between them."

"I'll be thankful." Chris gave up on his quest for another drink and turned around to face Byron was more only to see him standing up as well. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask, why did you arrive so much sooner than expected?"

"I took a detour. I was supposed to pass Lemuria first but settled with crossing the plain even if it was a risky route. I'm going to take a hot bath now, I expect dinner to be ready for when I'm out."

"It will be." Chris sighed in relief once his father was long gone up the stairs and went to open the closet door to get Thomas out of there and have him leave before he got found. He wanted to spend more time with him and recover their lost time together but it certainly wasn't the time for that. "You must go."

Thomas wasn't even paying attention to him. The detail of the city Byron had skipped over going by was all that rang in his mind and now he had no doubt that the papers he needed were in that house at that exact moment. No way would he just leave like that, not when his mission could be saved. He walked out and towards the staircase to show Chris his refusal.

"I told you, I can't leave just yet, it is broad daylight."

"I can't care less about that, you can't stay here either and it's even worse now that he's back home!" Chris complained in a low voice not wanting to be heard. "You _do_ have to make it out of here, now."

Thomas clasped a hand over Chris's mouth to have him shut up already and grumbled several insults before calming down and backing away. "I'll be out as soon as the sun sets, but I can't go anywhere right now."

Chris opened his mouth to say something else yet he didn't. Instead he shrugged his shoulders to have Thomas think he didn't care. That was always the best course of action when he wanted something from him and it worked judging by the dazzled expression he was given in return. "You know what, do what you want, but if father finds you I haven't seen you nor I know anything of you."

He went upstairs to get dressed in some normal clothing and Thomas followed him, hiding back inside his room and locking the door for safeguard. It was going to be a long day confined in there, but when the tame came he'd come out and get those papers even if it cost him the relationship with his family forever – it was already broken enough as it was.

The bed creaked under his weight when he lied down in it and pulled the sheets over him. Probably a nap would come in handy, or he could just stare at the ceiling for some hours and sort his thoughts. He had enough time to find a good plan, and it would have been more productive weren't it for the constant thoughts related to Chris that floated in his mind.

* * *

_"Let him go, there's nothing you can do for him!"_

_"I'm not going to leave him alone!"_

_"Alit, run, he's lost!"_

_"I said I'm not going to—!"_

_"Alit!"_

Someone grabbed his hand. Alit jerked awake, dampened in sweat and trying to breathe, checking his surroundings with a confused face. He wasn't in the mountains anymore. There wasn't a brigade of soldiers after them, and there was no slope to slip down. He let out a long, heavy breath and closed his eyes again, then pulled away from the hand holding him and rolled towards the wall. He wanted to go back to sleep.

There was no chance for that; a bucket of cold water was poured over him and Alit _had_ to get out of bed before he received a second one. He pressed his lips together, still a bit drowsy, and looked at the culprit, silently demanding a towel. Gilag grinned at Alit before complying and helping him up with the usual 'get up already' shake.

"You're getting more and more lazy."

"Oh, shut it, I need my beauty sleep." Alit snapped back. He winked as Alit patted his back – whenever the taller man did that Alit had to brace himself well or he'd end up falling forwards. Gilag was huge and strong, and way too intimidating for someone who 'couldn't hurt a pebble'.

"Nasch won't like your beauty sleep anymore if they make you skip training, y'know." Gilag took the towel from him and left it on the windowsill to dry. They went shirtless to practice.

Alit and Gilag were best friends. They were the most open about their friendship, and so theirs was the easiest to see. Alit was too much of a free spirit to let anything have him down for too long, and Gilag was a natural mood absorber. If Alit was in a good mood, he'd follow and cheer the atmosphere up even more.

They chatted easily on their way to the training room. Alit unlocked the door and opened the windows, and Gilag went to pick the weapons for the day. Three of the walls were covered from ground to ceiling in weaponry, from makeshift firearms to the best blades the kingdom could provide, some too old for practical use but others in perfect condition. The fourth wall had several shooting targets surrounding the door and a weight to keep it closed so nobody would be in danger of walking in in the middle of practice.

"What do you want to use today?" Alit turned around to look at Gilag, who had already gotten his hands on the brass knuckles. Alit laughed at the bravery and took his own personal pair. "What's this, you're daring to challenge _me_ to a fist fight?"

Gilag rolled his eyes and bumped Alit's forehead with his thumb. "If you get too cocky you'll lose some day. It's not all wins when it comes to you."

"Of course it is. I'm not called Burning Knuckler Alit for nothing." Alit showed his teeth in a cheeky grin, which ended with Gilag pinching his cheeks until they stung. He huffed and placed himself in front of Gilag in his fighting stance, waiting for him to begin first. Counters were his forte.

"Have you been having that nightmare again?" Gilag casually asked, moving to launch the first punch which Alit caught without a problem, even if he did lose his footing for a brief second, startled by the question.

"I…yeah. It was worse than other times too, it felt more real." He went for a low jab but Gilag was quicker and got out of the way, aiming to hit Alit's nape with his elbow. Alit saw it coming and lowered his head out of the way, grabbing Gilag's arm to bring him out of balance; the move worked and his opponent was down on the floor on his stomach with Alit's fist pressing into his back. "It was so real that for a moment I thought I was back then, Gilag. His desperate face, Merag telling me to let go, the way Nasch was looking at me…"

Alit let Gilag up, which cost him his advantage - in no time he was the one being held down by his heavy leather boot. He struggled, but Gilag held him immobile.

"We've told you countless times to stop thinking about it. All of us, Nasch included. It's not like you to think over stuff for so many years."

Alit sighed. "This isn't just anything, Gilag." He slipped from beneath Gilag's leg and pounced at him with another attack aiming for his jaw in an attempt to change the subject. Gilag countered it and pushed Alit further and further towards the wall – until Alit changed positions and pinned Gilag there instead, taking one of the knives and pressing it against his chest.

"That's cheating." Gilag pushed it away with his finger tip.

"No fight is fair in real life." Alit discarded the knife and backed away, having won the fight for that day. Gilag pulled him in a lock and messed with his hair.

"Idiot, you never cheat no matter what, are you still bugged by your dreams?"

"I am, but—"

"But there's no need to be." Nasch was standing in the doorway with Merag glancing inside over his shoulder with curious eyes, both of them dressed in their lightweight fighting clothes.

"Nasch." Alit acknowledged his presence. Their leader walked in and went directly for his sword, taking it off the wall more violently than intended. The other three felt their throat dry and Merag took her sword as well, keeping her impassive face.

"Alit. I've told you countless times that there is no need to live in the past. What happened then shouldn't affect us anymore, it's not healthy for our plans." Nasch didn't waste a second to attack Merag, who gracefully parried the blow and fought with him all across the room; Alit and Gilag were forced into a corner by their dance-like exhibition. "Right now we have too many things to do and problems on our hands to think about that."

Alit crossed his arms and could almost see Gilag's reassuring smile behind him. He tried to smile as well and to enjoy the show their two leaders were putting on. "I guess you're right, that's what I'm always doing anyway."

"Not today for some reason."

"I had a nightmare." Alit stared at his feet and Gilag placed an arm on his shoulder to guide him out of the room, knowing more than well that discussions between his friend and Nasch never ended up very well for any of them.

"We all do." Nasch sounded toneless and Alit briefly caught his gaze. It was hurt, filled with phantoms of the past that cut Alit like daggers. Merag was the only one capable of keeping Nasch in place right then. Alit said nothing more and Gilag and him left the room to prepare breakfast for whoever wanted to show up, seeing Vector and Thomas were away, the two siblings would spend hours fighting and Durbe and Mizael wouldn't leave their room for days, knowing them.

The atmosphere was ruined for the day, but Alit didn't want to give up and returned to his goofy nature in no time. Gilag appreciated it and even if they ended up eating alone, it was worth their time together.

Merag and Nasch continued their fight for two good hours, none willing to give in even the slightest and covered in several cuts by the end of it – Merag had lost and they called it quits when her brother's sword tip was threatening to cut her throat. They placed the two weapons back where they belonged and Merag hesitantly took his hand to rub her thumb over it.

"You're thinking about it again. Always admonishing Alit but you're no different."

Nasch frown but didn't comment, lost in his thoughts. There wasn't anything to say about it or so he thought, and he was unwilling to openly remember things that still carved a deep wound in his chest. Merag puffed her cheeks and grabbed him by the ear, dragging him out of the room like that because having him 'mad' at her was a lot better than seeing him with that drowning fish face. They'd go check on the two strategists later after they had some decent food, not that Nasch would ever eat as much as he needed.

Little they did know that during the night their few remaining chicken had been stolen and their food supply reduced to zero. Nasch wouldn't be the only one to fast in the near future.

* * *

_"One, two, three, one, two, three…" The two children skipped over the flat rocks in a poor attempt to cross the river. The shorter of them slipped and whelped as he fell face first into the water, cheeks red in embarrassment as his friend laughed at him._

_"You're so clumsy, you always fall."_

_"S-shut up." He took his shirt and squeezed it to make the water fall out, now cold and shivery. "Mom's going to get very mad at me."_

_"We'll let it dry before it goes home." They got to the other side and the older child kissed his short friend on the forehead. "Or maybe we can race there, which will have them dry anyway."_

_"Race, race!" The kid jumped excitedly around and jogged a few times in place, more than ready to dash away towards the hills._

_"Calm down, then we'll race." That's all he got to say before he got a late start and had to catch up with his friend. He was damn fast. "Wait up!"_

_"I can't, this is a race!"_

_He rolled his eyes and followed, taking the lead at a point when the shorter kid began to slow down out of nowhere. He didn't understand why, there was absolutely no reason for him to do that unless—_

_He stopped dead on his tracks and almost fell, staring in disbelief at the sight in front of him. Their house, no, their entire village was burning down and nobody seemed to be coming out. He screamed his sister's name and rushed towards the flames without thinking. Ryouga lost almost everything that night._


	4. Forbidden Doors

AN: I am sorry for the chapter delay it should go back to the weekly update now that I am better than the past few weeks _[scoots away]._

* * *

Thomas had spent several useless hours sprawled on his old bed with nothing to do. He was bored to death by the time the sun was up in the sky, and the absolute silence of the house didn't help either, since he had no idea where Chris or his father were at that moment. He needed to if he wanted to go and check on those papers, and then that night he'd be out of there as fast as possible.

At least, that was what he told himself he wanted. There was a speck of hesitation holding him back and Thomas would have delightfully gotten rid of it if he could. He cursed the moment he allowed Chris to play the piano with him, the fact that he had so openly enjoyed their fraternal interactions even if he wasn't supposed to think of them being like that anymore.

That didn't mean he didn't crave them – he missed the nights they'd spend up together watching the stars and Thomas learning how to orient himself with them, or the occasions they'd play hide and seek with their younger brother, and Thomas would always hide on the roof because the other two were afraid of heights.

There was a faint smile on Thomas's face – so faint anyone could have taken it as a shadow, but it was there – and the memories got him out of bed and looking through the things that were left in the now almost empty room. There were few of his old possessions left, and it didn't surprise him. Knowing Chris he had most likely thrown them away or hidden them in some part of the house where he didn't have to see them constantly and be reminded that his brother wasn't around and was surely dead.

He opened the drawers to his old desk, and after coughing from all the dust, found a notebook which surprisingly hadn't fallen apart, despite the state of its pages. Thomas took it out and cleaned its cover, trying to remember what it was. It must have been several years old, from when Thomas was only a runt. _What is this thing…?_

The answer would be easy to obtain if he opened it, but something was holding Thomas back. He hesitated more than once before finally doing so.

The pages were blank. He passed them and studied them carefully to make sure there was nothing and they were truly _empty_. It made no sense to him. Why would he keep such a thing?

Thomas was about to discard it but he froze at the last page; there, in his illegible seven years old writing, was a message he'd forgotten everything about. "Dear diary, today Chris promised to be my bride when I grow up so I'm writing this down to remember." Thomas read it out loud and closed the volume, hiding it back inside the drawer.

"What kind of idiot starts his diary from the last page," he murmured, and he gave up on exploring the room. He'd unburied more memories than he needed for a single day.

_What to do now. I could read a bit but there's no good books in here and I doubt it would be safe to go downstairs to get one._ He opted for taking one of the few volumes left on the shelves and give it a shot. It was a sappy romance novel, but it was acceptable for the time being, so he gave it some attention, even as he listened for any movement in the house.

Another hour flew by uneventfully.

Then he heard the floorboards in front of the door creak. He should have hidden somewhere, but his entire body tensed and his muscles were too stiff for him to move. He prayed for the handle to go untouched or whoever was outside (hopefully not Byron) to not have a spare key to the room. The seconds of silence following the creak were suffocating him and they passed slower than eons. _Come on, make a move or something…_

"Christopher, I'm off to take a bath, it's going to take a while. Prepare dinner while I am busy." It was his father, alright, but he didn't show any signs of wanting to come in. He heard him walk towards the end of the hall where the bathroom was, and the sound of the water running, and his body began functioning properly again. Thomas threw the book away and sneaked out, furtively heading towards where he remembered Byron's office to be.

Luckily it was unlocked so it was easy for him to go in. He didn't waste any second to go to where the pile of papers Byron had brought was left on the desk and read through them for any piece of useful information, hoping he'd find what he needed there and scram from that place already.

There wasn't much to pay attention to in the first pages. Just several boring political letters talking about parties and some arrangements between politicians he frankly didn't care about and were too disgusting to even look at. He had almost finished the pile when he bumped into a paper that was neater looking than the others, and with his father's distinctive handwriting on it.

_This is different._ Thomas sat in Byron's armchair and began to read, anger from what he was reading and excitement that it was exactly what he needed to bring the Barians back in force mixing and merging into a strange sensation that was bothering him. He rolled the document well and shoved it in his pocket, ready to leave the office and hide back in the other room until it was time to go.

He placed his hand on the handle but it moved on its on – someone was coming in, and it was too late for Thomas to find a place to hide. He waited for the door to open with his throat dry and a single drop of sweat going down his forehead.

* * *

Vector kicked another stone out of his way and watched it roll into the pond he was walking by. He had nothing to do till his meeting with Heartland the next day and the wait was killing him – more because he got bored really easily than having any actual interest in talking with that old man, but if he wanted his plans to move forward he had no other choice. He _had_ promised Nasch he would, so there were some things even someone like him would keep his word at. Especially if it meant all the fun that was to come.

He skipped over some of the rocks to cross the pond to the other side where the flowers grew and picked a violet freesia bloom, sniffing it. _Reminds me of Nasch, smells of despair._ And it was true, lately Nasch had seemed to drown in worry and it was almost impossible to pick him up again unless you were Merag or that airhead Thomas.

"I wonder if he's made it back," Vector said in a low voice to keep himself from scowling at the imagery of the Thomas's proud boasts whenever he did something even remotely worth it. He dropped the flower in the water and returned to the walkway after witnessing it sink. Thomas bothered him. Yes, he was useful to the Barian cause and despite Nasch's complaints he was quite content with him, but that didn't mean Vector swallowed him.

He didn't at all; he always had the nagging sensation that Thomas was in the way for everything, mostly in _his_ way. Nasch paid too much attention to him in Vector's opinion and it was annoying that his own efforts to cheer the leader up passed unnoticed or were frowned upon. He had the same right to time with Nasch as everyone else. _Soon he'll realize I'm more important than all those other bums._

Vector did not care about the other Barians and if someone asked him he didn't care about Nasch either, but he was _different_ in a way. Back when they'd met, Nasch had seen directly through him, through the façade that easily had everyone fooled. He had insisted until he was accepted in the Barian faction and in the end it was paying off better than he had expected; he could study Nasch and have his fun at the same time and aside from some boring side quests he couldn't complain.

The garden had become less entertaining after more walking. There was nothing else to do so he returned to his chambers and began writing a letter. At the end of the day it was shoved inside of his bag in a bundle with twenty others unsent letters, all with the same addressee written at the bottom of the page – Nasch.

* * *

The hours spent around Byron before he went to take his daily bath were extremely stressful for Chris. He normally wasn't so on edge around his father but Thomas's presence in the house added to the awkwardness there was between them at times since Chris couldn't calm down at all and had a hard time hiding it.

Watching him go up the stairs was as if an elephant had been taken off his back and after setting the soup to cook he left it unattended for a moment to go get changed into some decent clothing. It took him no time to find his favorite white shirt and plain gray pants, and he didn't need anything fancier to be in his own home. He spent more time braiding his hair than actually getting dressed and by the time he was back downstairs the water was already boiling.

He chopped the vegetables full speed and placed them in together with the meat, not bothering to make the pieces smaller. After he was sure it was all in order he sat on one of the kitchen chairs and closed his eyes. In spite of the difficulties they had been going through, Chris was seeing a glimpse of hope together with the news his father had brought back that morning.

Five years they had spent in that town, isolated and banished from their former riches at the palace. Knowing that he had a way to go back in there and work on regaining what they had lost from the inside was sure brightening his mood. _And then we'll all be a happy family again, and father will be content. Michael will beat us at sword fighting and_ _Thomas will…_ His train of thought ended there. Thinking about Thomas was painful, and not because he had gotten to hate him.

Quite the contrary, Chris still loved his younger brother a lot and wanted him back with them. He pushed the fond memories away with all his might when they invaded his head – they would only hold him back. If he wanted everything as it had been, he had to fight and leave their bonds aside and he knew that Thomas had reached the same resolve. They were on different sides now, different causes, and whichever would reach his goal first would pull the other with him. That was how it always was with them.

Chris knew that clinging wasn't of any good. After experiencing his fair share of betrayal in his life, he learned to move on quickly and that was his intention right then. He stood up from the chair and stretched. The soup was far from done and Byron took his time with baths so Chris could consider himself free for a good while.

Checking on the papers Byron had brought with him presented itself as a good idea; his father was secretive and he wouldn't tell Chris half of the content they carried no matter how much Chris insisted. He made his way upstairs and listened to the bathroom door first to make sure Byron was still having a jolly time with the bubble bath before tiptoeing to the office door and pressing on the handle.

A pair of hands grabbing him from inside and pulling him in the darkness of the room was the last thing he expected, and as the door closed behind him only Thomas's eyes lit in the room at his side.

* * *

Merag took another bite from the pastry in her hand, munching at it slowly and taking smaller and smaller bits from it. She wanted it to last as much as possible, or at least get the illusion it was bigger than in reality. A small hand touched her shoulder to give her the reassurance she needed. Merag turned around to face its owner with the warmest of smiles since she was being offered a similar one.

"Kotori, don't try scare me like that."

Kotori giggled and sat next to Merag at the table, arranging the ribbon in her hair. Merag was glad to see that amongst them Kotori still had the needed cheerfulness to keep them on their feet. She could see the fear in her friend's eyes, it was always there, but how she ignored her own insecurities to help everyone else from theirs was truly admirable.

"Came to check if the sweets are good enough. I had little flour left." Kotori took one as well and inhaled the scent before eating it in several graceful gestures.

"It's delicious as always. Hands of a goddess."

Kotori's imminent blush matched the red butterfly wing that was her tattoo. Merag laughed and pressed her finger against the reddening cheek, absent-mindedly trailing it across the mark all the way to Kotori's nose. "You always get so easily flustered."

"I-it's because you say these exaggerated things and—"

"I'm only being honest here."

"I'm not a godlike cook!"

"Nonsense." Merag planted a soft kiss on her friend's cheek and Kotori pressed her lips together feigning anger as a response. That was as much of a reaction she would get and didn't push further.

Kotori was important to her. She was important to Nasch as well but he was way more reluctant to admit that than Merag was. That was normal in her brother though, denying he held affection for certain people, but he'd seen how he furtively smiled at Kotori whenever she did something cute or heard him praise her good work before returning to his furrowed brow and denying that it ever happened.

If it hadn't been for Kotori, Merag probably not even be there anymore. Her bravery had saved Merag from the fire that burned their village down years ago and both her brother and she were forever grateful. Alit had pointed out that she was like an angel, and Merag couldn't have said It better herself.

She reached for another pastry when Nasch joined them in, hair tied up to keep it from falling into his face and bothering his vision. He waved at the two girls and went directly to the counters to check their contents, feeling he hadn't done a food countdown in a good while. He only found two loaves of bread and three remaining eggs aside from some yoghurt that didn't appear to be in very edible conditions.

"Is this all we have left in here?"

Kotori nodded and folded her hands on her skirt. "The kitchen is empty and we only have a sack of potatoes left in the basement. There's also the three hens we own but for now, nothing more."

Nasch turned on his heels, visibly trying to sort out the amount of food so it would last them the more the better. Kotori shifted when his eyes fell on her. She was always nervous when Nasch showed any interest in her, since he always appeared to be judging people. She _was_ feeling guilty. If she hadn't baked those pastries, they'd have more things to pull from.

"Kotori."

"Y-yes?" She sat straighter to answer and was surprised when Nasch looked anything but admonishing. He had taken the remaining cookie from the plate and there were crumbs around his mouth, his cheeks puffed from the chewing motion.

"These are tasty. Keep up the good job." Nasch's hand was in her hair and petting it with a gentleness few people knew was characteristic of him. Kotori closed her eyes to enjoy it, and Merag's fingers in contact with hers added to the pleasant feeling and warmth inside her chest.

"I…thank you, Nasch."

"Don't thank me. We should try to eat well tonight, we can find new food supplies whenever. Don't stress yourself and cook us some good chicken tonight, alright?"

"Will do." She smiled and it was returned. Kotori missed Nasch's often cheerfulness from the past. He had been a happy kid, one who'd bring joy to everyone with a single word and seeing him so hard to approach showed her just how much everything had changed, especially since their last great loss.

At times she still accidentally called the two twins Ryouga and Rio; it had been Nasch's choice to discard those names and get a fresh new start. They didn't pull anyone else into it but it still made Kotori feel a tad guilty for leaving her as it was. Nasch repeated that it was fine, that she had proven enough by letting herself be part of this and give up on anything else to wear that mark on her cheek.

It symbolized more than being a rebel. Only those who agreed to be seen by the world as dead would wear it, and they'd erase any sign of them being alive. As drastic as that seemed, it was actually quite useful for them. People considered dead were immediately uncounted from official population annals and that made it a lot easier for them to sneak around between circles and falsify passes. It was also a way of shedding of the past and accepting they were fighting for a new future. Nasch appreciated all of them for the sacrifice – Vector didn't really count, but he'd always been special and the Barian leader had learned not to be bothered by his eccentrics long ago.

Nasch stopped caressing Kotori's hair and undid his hair to tie it up again as some strands had gotten loose. He was left with his arms up in the air and a bewildered expression that the two women adopted almost immediately when Mizael came in without a warning. He had been running, judging by his hitched breath and sweat on his neck, and it was serious if it had made Mizael lose his composure.

"We have trouble," he talked with his teeth gritting hard, "huge trouble."

"What's wr-?"

"The hen, they're not there anymore. Someone let them loose."

Nasch's arms dropped to the sides together with his jaw and he set off to the courtyard, the other three following him with urgency. They found him cursing and stomping, the open fence the victim to his wrath. Durbe was there as well doing his best to calm him down but there was no stopping the storm once it had commenced.

Mizael was burning as well but trying to be more level-headed in that situation. He couldn't lose his temper in front of anyone, and less if Durbe was there. Kotori's eyes filled with tears of fear of what was to come and Merag let her cry on her chest.

By the time Nasch was calm once again, Merag had taken Kotori to her room to help her relax and Durbe had been sent together with Mizael back to work even if they wanted to stay and investigate.

Alit and Gilag were sent out in town to find possible food sources, and Nasch locked himself in one of the old accounting offices to try find something of use between the papers. He needed Thomas and Vector back, _fast_. They were running out of options too quickly, and the day of tomorrow presented itself darker than ever.


	5. Thick Air

AN: I got delayed lie 3 whole weeks mumbles. I haven't been that well lately so bare with this strange pace until I pick a good steady one.

* * *

Durbe closed the door, Mizael's eyes on him from the bed. They were back inside the room as they had been asked and perhaps it was better to spend some time there confined and focused on their work than aware of their closest reality.

None of them really knew what to say now that the hype out of the unexpectedness of the situation was dead. Durbe wasn't moving from the doorway so Mizael decided he needed a bit more time before getting to work. He, however, thought himself ready to go on and looked at the map – it was in the same spot as the previous night but there were major differences in its aspect.

There were lines and dots and crosses all over, not to mention notes on the corners or next to those markings. The two writing styles used on it were extreme opposites. On one hand there was the Durbe's careful calligraphy with curved letters and round dots, and on the other Mizael's scribbles that could be easily taken for the ones of a child, mixed with some grammatical errors to top with.

Mizael noticed them and quickly took an eraser to modify as many as possible; hopefully Durbe hadn't seen them, he wanted to improve but without going through the embarrassment of anyone seeing his mistakes.

Still not moving an inch, Durbe was speaking his own worries to the palm of his hand. He had this bad habit of nibbling at it when things went the wrong way. And they were going down the worst way possible. He'd seen Nasch break and that was the least comforting thing of all; Nasch always stood tall and strong no matter what, the only other time he lost it so much was when –

"Durbe." His friend's voice reached Durbe and by the way Mizael was making faces at him it wasn't the first time he called.

He let out a good quantity of air held back in his chest and moved to the bed, half slumping on it and having to hold his glasses to prevent them from falling. "Sorry, I spaced out for a bit."

"Aw, I was getting worried since you made me think we had another lost chicken to cry for tonight." Durbe and Mizael met gazes and the defiance the blond held was more of an invitation to join the joke than an actual provocation. _Cheer up, Durbe, _that was what they said and of course he found a suiting comeback to make Mizael's cockiness stop fluttering around.

"I'm not the one who clucks all day long and keeps insisting that he wants to fly someday, Mizael. _Coo_."

"D-don't make such a thing out of my dream—" Mizael growled for what would have been the rest of the sentence. He placed his hand at the back of Durbe's head and turned it towards the map in a solemn _let's do what we came here for_ gesture. None of them laughed though Durbe was clearly fighting it back and Mizael's cheeks were rounded out with air, but ten seconds later they were both back in focus.

The map may have been full of scribbles but they had barely made any progress. No idea how to get over a dry canal, no idea how they'd use transportation anymore and no idea how they'd do anything in general without moving bases. Now _that_ was out of the question. Aside from the ones who were in lead, other minor members inhabited there and moving them all out together with everything they owned would be a bigger hassle than they needed.

The time pressure on their shoulders wasn't of much help either, and whether Thomas and Vector brought anything back with them didn't matter if they weren't able to provide a way back towards the palace. And now that they thought of it, Thomas would have to change his initial route too, because the canal was drained several days after he left and it would be a miracle if he knew of it. Everything was against them.

"This isn't going anywhere." Mizael admitted and threw another freshly chewed pen against the wall after two more hours without any productivity. He fell back on the bed and took a strand of his hair to munch at it instead – they formed a strangely parallel picture, Durbe busy biting into his palm and Mizael into the golden locks of hair in acceptance that they were out of ideas.

"This is all without reason, isn't it? It's a lost cause." Durbe breathed out and Mizael may not have heard him if it weren't for the lack of any other sound. That was the drop that filled his glass. Durbe was pinned down into the bed with Mizael digging his fingers into his shoulders. _It hurts_, he wanted to say, but nothing hurt as much as the way he was being glared at. Something that hadn't ever happened before.

"Mizael, what are you—"

"Shut up!" Mizael slightly lifted him up only to press him into the mattress again. He was angry, _furious_ that Durbe had the guts to say he wanted to give up. "This isn't a lost cause! We've come a long way for this, and I personally am going to make sure that Nasch keeps his damn promise and that nothing of this has been useless! What do you think we'll accomplish if we give up now?! I'll tell you what – _rien, nada_, _nichts_! If we do that then yes you can say it's a lost cause, but as long as we breathe, as long as we can damn raise a single finger against Heartland and all this it is _not_! Do you understand what I'm saying?!"

Mizael was having a hard time breathing. The words had come out of his mouth without pause and there was a vein showing up at his left temple. Durbe was forced to advert his gaze towards the wall and hope the other would calm down but no such luck. The grip didn't loosen until Durbe agreed with Mizael's words with a nod and he could finally sit up. They were uncomfortably close to each other, something that neither had felt in ages. Discomfort. It came with the stress.

Even so Durbe knew Mizael was right. Nothing in their world was fair and if someone could change something it was them. They were the main pillars of the operations at that point and if the two of them fell then it all did. He arranged his clothes and took of his glasses. A new pair would come in handy, those ones were already turning too old for his only worse with the years vision.

"I'm sorry."

"You'd better be." Mizael scoffed and pulled Durbe's ear. "Promise you won't say, no, _think_ that ever again."

"I can't really –"

"Do it."

Durbe sighed. "Fine, I promise. I won't give up again."

"That's more like it." Mizael smiled for a brief instance and took another pen which had surprisingly survived his teeth. He pressed the tip against the map as he relaxed completely. He couldn't work when too many things were in his head.

Durbe didn't interfere and simply watched him in his trance. Mizael emanated calmness at that point and Durbe had the urge to reach out and move the hair from his face to look at it better. He went for it, arm stretched wide towards its target and he would have done it if it weren't for Mizael suddenly jolting and taking his hand into his.

"Durbe, I've got it!"

Durbe blinked. Mizael could get a bit creepy when he was all excited like this.

"I got it, I know what we're going to do!"

He invited Durbe to lean over the table with him and began to explain everything with fast movements. It was hard to keep up but Durbe ended up smiling together with him and adding to it. They were at last getting somewhere.

* * *

Chris was murdering Thomas in his mind as Thomas's hand was clasped on his mouth and the door to Byron's office well locked behind him. Thomas leaned his ear against the wood and listened carefully, only letting go of his brother when he was sure that Byron still hadn't moved from the bathroom.

"You scared the hell out of me, you know that?!" Thomas hissed and wiped his hand over his shirt. Chris really needed to work on how much water he produced from his mouth when angry.

"I could tell you the same. What did you do that for?" Chris didn't let Thomas answer and waved at him dismissively. "Don't bother answering that, it was a rhetorical question. Not that anything you do _ever_ makes sense."

Thomas gritted his teeth in annoyance and stuck his tongue out at him when Chris turned around to check his father's desk. If Thomas was there it had to be for some good reason or knowing him he wouldn't have bothered to get out of bed. He remembered the documents Byron had brought and found them on a corner of the old piece of furniture. They appeared untouched but then again Thomas could be sneaky (when he wasn't failing at it which happened way too often).

"Why are you in here?" Chris eventually inquired, sitting on the edge of the desk and going through the papers. Nothing of interest, absolutely _nothing_. Thomas didn't have a disappointed aura though so he must have taken something.

Thomas shrugged as an answer.

"I asked you a question, Thomas."

"I have no obligation to answer."

"Oh, is that so?" Chris crossed his legs and used them as support for his elbows. He placed his chin in his hands pretending to care about his brother's attitude. "Let me inform you that you _do_ have. I am your brother, I am older than you, and I can scream at this exact moment that you're here and have father and several guards come in over you."

Thomas's face darkened and he shifted awkwardly in his place. _Ah, I hit a nerve, good._ Chris smiled and waited for him to give in. He had patience even if not that much time. Byron could come out any second.

"So? I'll ask again, why are you here?"

"…Wanted to check out those papers. There wasn't anything good in them." He wouldn't give in to Chris that easily. Play along with his game maybe, but accept defeat was a huge _never_.

"Should I trust you or not, my my."

"That's your problem, not mine."

"Don't be rude to your big brother."

"Don't tell me what to do."

They both rolled their eyes into a perfectly mirroring action, complemented by how their eyebrows perked up at the same time and even the small huff of air. None of them found words to speak for some minutes and Thomas began to swing from one leg to the other – Chris's own legs were going numb from his position which he was starting to regret but they wouldn't break eye contact. Not yet.

Thomas was the first to make a move. He skipped to where Chris was and looked at him from his lower height without blinking. Then it somehow…happened. Chris pulled Thomas's head against his chest and Thomas didn't push him away. Instead he hugged his brother and clung from the back of the shirt he was wearing. At a point Chris got down from the desk so he could properly return the embrace and the two of them held onto the other man with no words needed.

They passed their need for each other wordlessly. How much they had missed hugging, talking, bickering, and the simplest of activities in the company of a sibling. Too bad the two of them were on opposite ends of the road at that moment.

The two brothers were absorbed enough to forget about their problem at hand. It didn't last long, Thomas slithering out and this time heading to leave without the hesitation from before. Chris had felt the papers hidden in Thomas's jacket. He had stolen something but there was no point in going after him – the next time Chris would enter his room Thomas wouldn't be there.

He left as well and descended back into the kitchen just in time for the food to be ready and the bathroom floor to creak. It would be a good idea to wipe his forming tears before Byron got there.

* * *

"That is more or less his condition right now."

_Thanks for revealing me pretty much nothing, this was an extremely helpful intervention._ Kaito bit back the insults building up inside him at his lips. That was no time to say anything rude, after all the doctor was paid out of his personal money and the little he could afford. Miracle the day Faker showed actual interest in Haruto's health. _This is all bullshit._

No, being told that Haruto was _recovering_ though he was _still unstable _didn't give him anything. Haruto was not getting better and it was plain to see by how he had been a night ago. Sick.

"Can you cure him?" The question itself wasn't much relevant either. He'd posed it more than once in the same office and circumstances and it was the same every time he did.

_We're trying._ Kaito muttered out together with the doctor and rubbed one of his arms. He wasn't that sure they were. Not being rich enough to pay for the proper treatment was in his way and only becoming King he could achieve enough status and money to be taken seriously.

He had his doubts. He was aware that Faker was planning to be the one in charge of the kingdom behind the curtains and of that he couldn't care less – what scared him most was all of this being a huge struggle towards no end. _No, I mustn't think this. If it's for Haruto being only a bit better then there's a good use in all I do. _

Kaito stood up to make his leave seeing the doctor wasn't warming him up one bit. A cordial smile and salute were exchanged, but the moment the door closed behind him Kaito began to curse into the collar of his coat. He had wasted his time again and should return back home.

The carriage ride was barely felt and the servants taking his coat away was the same mechanic movement as ever. His sibling was the mindset Kaito was on and Haruto's room his goal; no distractions were permitted, no—

"Kaito."

_Crap._ Kaito came face to face with his father, who was making his way out of the main dormitory. Out of all people to bump in _he_ showed up at the worst time.

"Father."

"I need to have a word with you."

_You always do. _"Can't it wait?"

"No, it's something that urges since you're starting your appointments with Heartland next week. So we should talk now."

_Brilliant. _"I understand. I shall give you some of my time in that case."

"You're _my_ son so if you think about it that time actually belongs to me. Move it now."

More held back comments swirled in Kaito's mind as he followed Faker to the office set at the back of the mansion. He didn't sit down and just stood next to the window, looking out at the already setting soon. _This day has gone by way too fast._

Faker sat at the desk and opened one of the drawers to take out his favorite cigars and a box of matches. He lit it up and smoked with lazy puffs. Kaito had to make use of all his willpower not to move from his spot to show his rejection towards this habit. He couldn't stand smoking at all, it was sickish and the thick smoke not only affected him but also Haruto whenever he was around. Faker overdid the smoking around him.

"Do you have anything to talk about or am I here for nothing?" Kaito was the one to speak first when his patience reached a limit. It wasn't yet broken but close.

"On the contrary, I would like you to tell me some things. As per say, you to do the talking." Faker put out the cigar and threw the remains in his bin. He never refreshed the room after it so it was no wonder the smell had impregnated in the furniture and curtains.

"Me?"

"You. I have a feeling you're not aware of your goal, Kaito."

Kaito balled his fists. _We've talked about this already. _"I have them very clear. Show his Majesty that I am worth to be the next ruler of this country and learn all I can about the future plans that he is hiding from us. Who do you take me for?"

Faker laughed. The sound caused Kaito to wince with how false and forced it was. "That's the problem, that I take you for who you are and know where your loyalties lie. Not with me where they should be."

"It pains me that I do not have your trust, father." Kaito came off as sarcastic and he frankly couldn't care less. He was fed up.

"Those words better be more serious than they sound. You do care for that brother of yours it seems, so at least keep that in mind whenever you go to do or say anything."

Kaito launched him a scornful stare to which Faker gave a mocking smile in return. He nibbled at some skin that was peeling off from his lower lip and nodded. "That is always present in my mind."

"Together with your desire of acting on your own."

"Nothing of the kind exists."

"I'm not dumb. That's why I need to see just how set you are to our path and want you to offer me some proof of your dedication. "

Kaito moved towards the desk and leaned over it with the bridge of his palms as support. His pupils were flared up with determination, not a drop of sweat on his forehead in spite of how hot it was in the room. "Fine. I'll do it, whatever it is."

"Whatever it is?" Faker asked and the tone he did it with gave Kaito a very bad vibe. Something wasn't right and it almost made him think twice. He didn't.

"…Whatever it is."

Faker grinned and his yellow teeth repulsed Kaito enough to have him draw back an inch. He went for the drawer again but instead of cigars he took out a small box and placed it in front of Kaito, who brushed it with his fingers before snatching it in his hand and opening it in one go.

Faker licked his lips at how Kaito began to shake entirely when he saw the context and his poor attempts to hide that he was. If Kaito accepted that then he was at his hand entirely. _If_.

"W-why do you have this?!" Kaito snapped, the fury plain in his expression as calm as he still held himself.

"It was left behind."

"It shouldn't be in your possession, I—"

"You gave it to him for his last birthday, I know that. But now he doesn't have it anymore so better off in the original buyer's hands, right?" Faker's words came out reassuringly but they were full of malice that wasn't hidden the slightest. "Wear it and I'll trust you."

_I can't wear this, if he sees me with it he…What should I do…_Kaito took the shimmering pendant from its casket and held it in the dim light. It had a silver chain, and the gem dangling from it was a light blue sapphire held to it by a small flame shape that sometimes took its blue color as well depending on how one looked at it.

_It's a will o' the wisp. It's meant to help you always find your path._ Kaito knew those words well because he had recited them in his head a hundred times before blurting them out loud when it saw the light the first time. Now it felt more like ill omen that anything. Not guidance but a warning.

"Your answer, Kaito?" Faker tapped his finger on the desk loud to bring him back to the real world. Kaito was lost but he instantly regained his composure and squeezed the pendant in his hand. "It's a yes." He murmured and choked on the last word.

"I couldn't hear you." Faker pushed further for full acceptance.

"I said," Kaito repeated and put the pendant around his neck while stepping on his heart at the same time, "that it's a yes."

"Proud of you. Dismissed." Faker returned the box to its place and left the place first, leaving Kaito with his thoughts. He was still fisting the gemstone in his hand and felt it pierce into it. It didn't matter. If it gave him pain it was better – nothing compared to what it would be when its rightful owner saw it around _his_ neck. _I deserve this._

Kaito closed his eyes and dropped to the floor. His cross to bear was now in physical form around his neck and it symbolized such opposite things that his emotions were a mess. His betrayal, his faith in Haruto, his ties to his father and a feeling he thought he'd long thrown away. _Love_.

It took Kaito forever to stand up. He'd check on Haruto, and then head to the first circle to visit the one person who could provide him any help at that point. She was hard to interact with and it required him to go do a tedious task early in the morning though it wasn't that much of a downside for what it was worth.

_Let's see how you have been surviving out there, Droite._


End file.
